At 66, she arrived at the gynecologist’s office claiming she was 9 months pregnant. The doctor turned on the ultrasound, looked at the screen… and the blood drained from his face.
The nurse screamed because something appeared on the screen that looked like a mouth.
Not a living mouth.A twisted, shimmering shadow with white dots aligned like teeth inside a massive mass occupying my belly. I didn’t understand a thing. I only saw stains, hollows, something round where I had imagined a baby’s head.
The doctor turned off the machine’s sound.
“Mrs. Morales, this is not a pregnancy.”
I felt as if someone had ripped the yellow socks right out of my soul.
“Then… what is it?”
The doctor looked toward the door, where my children were still standing.
“It’s a very large ovarian mass. It has solid parts, fluid, and calcifications. Because of its size and your symptoms, it could rupture or twist at any moment. I need to transfer you to the ER now.”
Monica let out a nervous laugh.
“A mass? So my mom isn’t pregnant? See, Doctor, I told you. She’s delirious.”
The doctor turned to her.
“Your mother is not delirious. Her body was producing signals that could be mistaken for pregnancy. And you should have brought her in months ago.”
The silence slapped my three children across the face.
Arthur frowned.
“Wait, are you saying she needs surgery?”
“Yes.”
“Today?”
“If she were my mother, I wouldn’t wait even an hour.”
Julian finally took off his headphones.
“And how much is this going to cost?”
I closed my eyes.
He didn’t ask if I was going to live.
He asked how much.
